Legends of Tsalagee #2 — Chapter 1

Three

The irony of the situation did not mitigate Mark Easter's guilt. This time, it wasn't about driving while impaired. He had consumed two beers, or so he claimed to Sergeant DuFranc. To him, that hardly constituted drinking, and the breathalyzer seemed to confirm his assertion. Consequently, he was only facing a ticket for inattentive driving instead of another DUI, which would have likely led to jail time.

Had he merely brushed against the bridge rail instead of colliding with Gary Rix's Honda Ridgeline, he could have returned home unscathed, facing just the embarrassment and cost of his repairs. Instead, he not only damaged both vehicles but also received a ticket and a scolding from both Gary and Officer DuFranc, who were doubtful of his "only two beers" excuse.

Initially, he thought he was distracted by Venus; he had only glanced up at the bright white light in the evening sky. He had seen it countless times before but always found the planet's brilliance captivating, especially against the indigo twilight. He often told his ninth-grade science students, "Look at the clear night sky, and you'll truly understand what 'awesome' means." However, that night, Venus appeared different—much brighter and positioned to the north, a location not typical for the planet. Its unusual brightness puzzled him. It seemed either much closer than anticipated or larger than usual. Was it a plane? No flashing lights indicated it was one.

Still peering through the windshield, Mark muttered, "What the hell?" just as Rix honked loudly and swerved away from him on the bridge. Mark jerked his wheel right but was too late to prevent the grinding collision that ensued, causing both vehicles to spin and block the entire roadway.

"Good Lord, Easter!" Rix shouted as he struggled to free himself from his damaged truck.

"Are you okay?" Mark called out, needing to exit his Corolla through the passenger side.

"Are you drunk?" Rix shot back.

Mark avoided the question and dove into his explanation about being distracted while driving. "There was this light in the sky, bright as anything." He glanced up again. "Didn’t you see it?"

"What?" Gary responded, taken aback. He too looked at the night sky, but seeing nothing, directed his anger back at Mark. "You are drunk."

Mark continued searching the sky, ignoring Rix's judgment. "It was huge; I thought it was going to crash."

Irate, Rix took out his phone and dialed 911.

Patrolman DuFranc began asking questions and jotting down notes after placing flares at both ends of the bridge. Curious drivers from the halted traffic wandered over to the accident scene. Upon spotting Mark Easter, they quickly presumed they knew the cause of the crash.

Sergeant Charlie DuFranc preferred patrolling the streets of Tsalagee over sitting behind a desk at the station. Most of the action occurred around the casino, where he had some jurisdiction. His imposing six-foot-five, two-fifty frame intimidated many, especially those unfamiliar with him. He often leveraged this to his advantage, though he was genuinely amicable to those who knew him. "Have you been drinking tonight, Mister Easter?" he inquired while writing.

"I had a couple of beers, Charlie," Mark replied. They were acquaintances from high school—kind of. Both graduated from Tsalagee High, albeit twenty years apart: Easter in '75 and DuFranc in '05. Mark had taught Charlie in science and physics classes and was also one of the All-Stater’s football coaches.

DuFranc nodded and shone his flashlight into Mark's eyes. "I’m going to need you to perform a field sobriety test then. Can you recite the alphabet backwards for me?"

"Z, Y, X... um W, V, U, um, um, then S and R, P, Q... oh hell, et cetera, et cetera."

DuFranc sighed. "Alright then. I’m going to ask you to take a breathalyzer." He handed the device to Mark. "You know the procedure, Mister Easter."

Mark complied. DuFranc checked the digital readout and raised his eyebrows. "Damn, looks like you’re telling the truth, Mister Easter. It reads point two."

"I told you," Mark insisted. "I was looking at a light in the sky and didn’t see Gary until it was too late."

Charlie shook his head and pulled out his citation pad. "You’re as bad as those damn kids with their cell phones." He started writing. "I'm issuing you a citation for inattentive driving, Mister Easter."

"Hasn’t anyone else reported that light?" Mark asked.

"I haven’t heard anything," Charlie replied. He turned to Gary. "Did you see any lights in the sky, Mister Rix?"

Gary, leaning against the wrecked front fender of his truck with his arms crossed, looked at DuFranc with a scowl and silently shook his head.

Meanwhile, back at the station, Pete received several calls about strange lights in the sky. "Aircraft," he told the callers. "Probably military." He left it at that.

A rookie sheriff’s deputy, Renata Ortega, had been on the job for less than six months and still faced daily reprimands from her supervisor. Despite not having committed any major errors, she struggled with the typical challenges of being new. The sheriff and some of her colleagues' remarks took a toll on her confidence, prompting her to be more meticulous in her duties. She focused on collecting details to distinguish fact from fiction, carefully considering how to report her findings.

As the department's first and only female deputy and the youngest, she chalked up any mockery to that fact. She tried not to let it hurt her feelings. Winning over the old boys' club was challenging, especially for a twenty-two-year-old newcomer.

The sheriff had hired her based on a recommendation from Jorge Estevez, the general manager of the casino and a prominent campaign supporter. Renata was the daughter of an old friend of Jorge’s, and she had recently graduated third in her class with a degree in criminal justice.

When dispatch received a peculiar radio call, Deputy Ortega prepared herself mentally for what awaited her at the scene.

"Renata, we received a call from a resident three miles south and one mile west of Highway 58, exit 13, regarding a disturbance at her home. A woman named Olivia Anderson reported bright lights in the night sky over her south pasture."

"An airplane? Helicopter?" Renata inquired.

"Yeah, I asked, but she insisted it wasn’t either. She said it made no noise but panicked her animals. She wants us to check it out."

Renata's past experiences with her colleagues made her suspicious. Would this turn into another opportunity for ridicule from them and a scornful remark from Sheriff Bluehorse? This could be a setup. Regardless, she was determined to handle it professionally.

Checking the blue light of the digital clock on her dashboard, she noted it was two-fifty in the morning, not even halfway through her shift.

"Mrs. Anderson?" Renata called as she stepped back to the top porch step after knocking. The door creaked open slightly. A woman stood there, flanked by a large German shepherd that appeared even larger than usual, its wild amber eyes watching Renata closely.

The woman looked to be in her late sixties, tall and slender, around five-nine or ten, with an athletic build. She still possessed a certain beauty, weathered by time and the outdoors. Her sandy-red hair, devoid of gray, was styled in a masculine fashion some women favored. Renata wondered if it was her natural color. Dressed in a green flannel shirt and stone-washed jeans, she didn’t seem like someone who had just woken up. Perhaps she was just early to rise? The jeans covered a pair of pointed-toe boots that looked expensive—possibly gator skin or lizard.

"Yes, I’m Olivia Anderson," the woman replied, her eyes darting nervously.

"I’m Deputy Ortega with the Sheriff’s Department. You called about a disturbance?"

Mrs. Anderson cleared her throat and looked away, stroking the dog’s head. "Yes, I did. It all seems over now, and I feel a bit silly. But I tell you, I was more than a little scared when it happened." She turned her focus back to the dog, scratching its jowl. "Weren’t we, boy?" The dog licked her wrist before returning to its watchful stance. "The strangest thing I’ve ever seen. I guess I’ll be losing sleep again tonight," the woman added, turning back to Renata.

"Too? Has this happened before?" Renata asked.

The woman brushed her hair back, glancing away. "Well, I... didn’t sleep much last night either. A pack of coyotes came after my chickens. Step and I had to keep watch."

"Can you tell me what happened tonight?" Ortega prompted.

"Okay, well..." She stepped onto the wide porch, moving to one end. The dog trailed closely, ensuring it remained between her and the deputy. The soft yellow glow from the living room illuminated the porch as Mrs. Anderson gazed toward the pasture, resting a hand on the waist-high railing. "It was out there over the pasture maybe a quarter mile away. Hard to tell; it looked pretty big."

"What was it, ma’am?" Renata asked.

"The thing... the craft, or whatever it was. I couldn’t make out its shape; the lights were too bright. Maybe oval or round, I’m not sure."

"It was in the field?" Renata pressed.

"No, it hovered above it, bobbing a little."

"How high was it?"

"About two or three hundred feet, I guess."

"Did you hear anything, like a helicopter?"

"No, nothing... well, maybe a low buzz, like a swarm of angry hornets. It was difficult to hear because the horses and other animals were causing such a commotion, and Step was barking his head off. I have a meat house out by the barn where I keep cuts, a couple of beef quarters. I do some butchering myself, and the refrigeration unit always hums, but I usually tune that out."

Renata listened attentively, catching the hum. "Do you think that was the buzz you heard?"

"No, this was a different pitch, higher. I was with a medical unit in Vietnam; I’ve heard a lot of helicopters. I don’t believe it was any kind of helicopter I recognize. But that was forty years ago. Hueys made quite a noise. Modern choppers are much quieter, especially military ones."

"What did it do after you first saw it?" Renata asked.

"It stayed in place for a while, then it backed up and moved around. It wasn’t trying to conceal itself. The lights were incredibly bright. After a minute or so, it lifted slowly, gaining speed, and then it just vanished."

"Did it land?"

"Not while I was watching. It just disappeared."

Deputy Ortega scratched her nose. "What do you mean, 'disappeared'?"

"I mean it was there, and then it wasn’t. The lights just blinked off—empty sky."

Renata nodded, skeptical. "Empty sky," she echoed.

"Yeah."

"Was anyone else in the house able to see it?"

"I live alone, just me and Step. He saw it and barked at it. I think it frightened him. Not much scares Step."

Renata looked at the dog. "I can believe that. Step?" The canine regarded her impassively, as though it were wearing aviator sunglasses.

Olivia smiled. "Yes, I call him Step. His full name is Steppenwolf. Named him after a band I liked in the Sixties."

The deputy liked dogs and contemplated reaching out to pet this one, though the animal didn’t seem inviting. "Anything else?" she asked.

"Nope, that was it. The whole thing lasted about ten minutes. Maybe it’s no big deal. Not threatening, but living out here alone makes me a bit nervous. I’ve heard stories from other ranchers about rustlers. And I have processed beef. I don’t want anyone stealing that, either. That’s why I called it in."

"And last night, you’re sure it was just coyotes?" Renata asked.

Olivia nodded. "That’s what we saw."

Renata sighed, glancing at Steppenwolf again. "Alright, Mrs. Anderson. I’ll check your barn and field, but it’s most likely an aircraft, probably a helicopter. Distances and lights can be deceiving at night."

After driving the SUV around the forty-acre pasture for thirty minutes, Renata concluded that whatever aircraft Mrs. Anderson had seen hadn’t landed; the tall grass would have shown evidence of that, but there were no signs of anything unusual.

She picked up the mic and keyed it. "Unega HQ, Unit three."

"Go ahead, Renata," came Pete’s voice.

"I spoke with the woman on west county 48 regarding the disturbance. It appears an aircraft, possibly a helicopter, was flying and hovering over her pasture. I’m headed there to investigate further, but the craft seems to be gone now."

"Got more calls coming in," Pete responded. "More lights in the sky. One nearest your location is five miles east at the old Buchanan place."

"Sunny Griggs?" Renata groaned into the mic.

"Yep."

Despite Olivia Anderson’s report, Renata sensed a prank. "Okay, I’m wrapping up here. I’ll head over there next."

She drove diagonally across the pasture, heading toward the farthest fenced corner that led into a cluster of trees.

Deputy Ortega knew Sunny Griggs, an eccentric woman residing alone on an old farm known as the Buchanan place, a name still used despite Buck and Gladys having passed away over a decade ago.

The sheriff had briefed Renata about Griggs after their first encounter. Sunny, the only child of the couple, inherited the property after their deaths. She had been placed with them as a foster child at age eleven after her biological parents ended up in prison due to failed drug operations.

Given Sunflower Delight’s—her legal name—troubled childhood and questionable parenting, the Buchanans took in a challenging pre-teen who later became a troublesome teenager. Nevertheless, the couple persevered, instilling strong values until she left for community college and work in Oklahoma City. After spending a dozen years as a misplaced second-generation hippie entangled in corporate America, she returned home to care for her ill foster mother, eventually settling permanently on the old farm.

Somewhere in her thirties, Sunny embraced Wicca, a spiritual path she discovered online. She had a passionate affair with Punch Roundstep, but it didn’t last, as they were incompatible. Now in her late forties, she lived alone, not counting her cats and yard gnomes. She referred to her dozen-odd semi-feral cats as her children and believed her gnomes were similarly animated. She had over a dozen little concrete figures scattered across her property, each named after a Hobbit, insisting they were spiritually alive, if not physically.

Her neighbors, particularly White Oxley, often described her as "peculiar," a far more colorful term than that. There had been several disputes, especially with White, where their issues seemed irreconcilable. White commonly referred to her as that “crazy bitch” or “damned ol’ hippie.”

Three months prior, dispatch had sent Deputy Ortega to the Buchanan place to investigate the "murder" of a gnome named Samwise. Sunny had called it in—"I want to report a murder."

She had positioned Samwise at the fence line between her property and Oxley’s, facing his shooting range, hoping to project some sort of feng shui that would deter him from shooting, which disturbed both her and her cats. The old rancher objected to her and Samwise’s presence, shooting the gnome’s head off with his vintage lever-action .44 Henry rifle.

It was a clear case of premeditated destruction, and Renata had White’s confession: “You damn right I shot the little sumbitch. Pretty dang good shooting from that distance, too, I’d say.”

Sunny replaced Samwise with another gnome named Adalgrim, only for White to blow the head off that one as well.

As a long-time friend of the sheriff and somewhat related (White’s sister married the sheriff’s brother), the sheriff sent his nephew to help mediate a resolution.

Faced with two misdemeanor charges for destruction of property, White reluctantly agreed to compensate Sunny for her losses and refrain from any further gnome slayings. However, this incident sparked an ongoing feud between the two neighbors, becoming a topic of conversation among men at Arlene’s Café, particularly when White brought it up, which he often did.

Renata parked the SUV at the woods’ edge, keeping the headlights on and switching to high beams. She scanned the illuminated woods against the dark backdrop, but nothing was visible within the forty feet the beams reached. Turning the wheel, she moved forward to light up another section. Unable to see the fence line at the back of the trees, she decided to walk out there with her large Maglite.

Just ten yards into her search, a bright light flashed on. It was large and blinding, so intense that Renata couldn’t determine its size or distance, but it seemed to be beyond the fence line. The light rose slowly, silently, accompanied by a low hum. The fall foliage rustled uneasily around her. She squinted against the glare, attempting to follow its ascent as it shot off and vanished. One moment it was there, and then it was gone.

© 2021 by Phil Truman. All rights reserved PTI Publishing Broken Arrow, OK

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events depicted are products of the author’s imagination.

Thank you for taking the time to read these chapters. I welcome your feedback, whether positive or negative.

Special thanks to: Britni Pepper, Liam Ireland, Stuart Englander, Linda Halladay, Dr. Jessey Anthony, The Garrulous Glaswegian, Amanda Walker, Terry Mansfield, Terry Trueman, Carla Woody, Teresa Kuhl, Karen Madej, Bebe Nicholson, Roz Warren, Tree Langdon, Tim Maudlin.